Daytona Daze
by Aeiu
Summary: To the victor belong the spoils.


DAYTONA DAYS

By AEIU

The stadium seats creaked as the mass of humanity squeezed into every available seat and beyond. Just outside the walls, there was an ocean of parked cars and amid them were the throngs of additional fans; those that were not lucky enough to get tickets but wanted to be as close to the action as possible. The roar of excited on-lookers was deafening as everyone waited with bated breath and anticipation for the big moment.

Gary Baker smiled grimly as his make-up person completed a few last minute touch ups. He nodded over to his co-host, Keith Wilson, who nodded back. It had been a long hard fight to hold on to this most coveted of positions.

Every year the hype got bigger and bigger and every year the big-wigs at the network tried to bring in new or special guest star commentators for the race. The network claimed it was to highlight the newsworthiness of the event but Gary and Keith knew better. It was just the network caving into some established star who had called in favors but hadn't paid their dues or, worse, some new want-a-be star the network was trying to promote.

"_No way,"_ thought Baker. _"I was with this race when it was just the butt of water cooler jokes. They're not pushing me out now."_

Baker allowed himself to be shuffled to his seat. He knew in a few moments the camera would start and history would be made again and he was grateful to be a part of it.

"Good afternoon, racing fans," Baker said as he smiled into the camera to the untold millions in his audience. "This is the last leg of the Daytona 500 and I'm your commentator, Gary Baker."

"And I'm your co-commentator, Keith Wilson," Wilson piped in from the side. "It's a beautiful day here at the track, isn't Gary?"

"Yes, it is. You can feel the excitement in the air. They're expecting this to be the most watched race in the history of television." Both men inwardly chucked at the understatement. Everyone predicted this race to top the Super Bowl in the Neilson Ratings.

"That's right, Gary. For the first time, the race will be carried live on all three of the network channels and when we add in all of the international fans who will be watching on their own country's television. Well, I'm not sure there's a number big enough to count them all."

"I understand that some places have declared work holidays to give their people a chance to watch the race from the comfort of their own homes."

"I can understand that," Keith chuckled. "It's easier than dealing with the vast number of workers who had been planning on calling in sick."

"At least we don't have that problem," Gary returned the laugh.

"We're expecting a lot of action on the track today. But before we continue this exciting broadcast, let's break for station identification."

A sleek red race pulled into an empty lot. The driver's door opened silently as a tall figure exited the car wearing a skin tight racing suit which accented his muscular chest. The figure removed his tinted helmet and flashed his familiar dimpled smile.

"Hello, America. This is Mark McCormick, racing legend. After winning all of the top racing honors for five years straight, I am constantly asked what motor oil I recommend. I tell them that I only use Golden Motor Oil."

McCormick easily reached into the open car window and pulled out a large can of Golden Motor Oil. He held it in front of him and widened his smile.

From somewhere two beautiful women ran up to McCormick with looks of adoration in their eyes. As soon as they neared, they started kissing his neck and face as they ran their long sensuous fingers through his hair and across his chest. Throughout it all, McCormick stoically held the can of motor oil so everyone could read the label.

"Remember," Mark said between the kisses, ""don't be a donkey and only use Golden Motor Oil in your car."

Gary swallowed a lump in his throat; there was something about the simple wonderfulness of the commercial which always brought his emotions to the forefront.

"There you have it, Keith, Gary said as he barely suppressed a sob. "The award winning commercial that brought Golden Motor Oil from an unknown product created by Mr. Theodore Hollins, into the bestselling motor oil in the world. All in just one year."

"That's right, Gary. And made 'don't be a donkey' into a catch phrase phenomenon."

"And it's all thanks to the man everyone is watching and talking about, Mr. Mark (AKA Skid) McCormick."

"That's right, Gary. I hear the Vegas money isn't on whether he'll win the race but by how much he'll shatter the world speed record."

"Would that be the record he made last year at this very race?"

"That's right, Gary. So it is nothing new for this extraordinary racer."

"I'm sure everyone watching, if not every person in the country, is aware of the remarkable career of this God of the Track. He first burst into national notice when he won the 1978 Outlaw Trail Championship."

"That was a real knuckle gnawer of a race," Keith quipped. "Skid was favored to win the race over E.J. Corlette. But it looked like the sweet taste of victory was going to be snatched from his lips when his engine blew in the last lap but showing the improvisional style that's made him famous, he was able to pull out of it and win the race. After that there was no stopping him as racing honor after racing honor fell effortlessly into his hands."

"That is until he found himself unjustly hauled into court for, unbelievably, stealing his own car," Gary added.

"Who could forget that?" Keith said as he seethed inside. Even after several years, it still made him angry to think about the unjust accusation made against this man above men. "It was the trial of the century in front of one of the worst hard-nosed judges in the history of the judicial system."

"But it takes more than something like that to slow down a man like McCormick," Gary said. While the nation held its breath, he acted as his own lawyer and got the charges dismissed."

"I can still remember the ticker tape parade after Skid McCormick left the court room, a free man, and his ex-girlfriend was taken to jail for being a vindictive witch."

"I understand that this year the Supreme Court is hearing her lawyer's appeal that exiling her to the darkest corner of the world was an unjust and excessive punishment."

"That's right, Gary. And Skid, wonderful human being that he is, has said that sending her to Siberia is good enough for him."

"What a guy! What a humanitarian!"

"Sorry, Gary, we need to break away here as George Raston had a very special guest to talk to in the VIP section. I understand she's getting ready to make a big announcement."

A similarly looking commentator stood in front of the VIP stand with his microphone out and a large smile on his face. Near him stood a tall woman with jet black curly hair and large fleshly lips who primped shamelessly in front of the camera.

"This is George Raston and I have a very happy woman here who wants to make a very happy announcement. I'm sure everyone at home recognizes Joan Collins, star of the hit TV series, Dynasty.

"Hello everyone," the dark haired seductress purred as she pulled the collar of her mink coat around her throat. "I wanted to take this opportunity to announce my engagement to Mark McCormick. As you would guess, I'm hoping for a short engagement and a wonderfully long honeymoon."

"Wow," George said flabbergasted. "I'm sure this announcement will devastate the female population of the world. How long have you been engaged?"

"Well…" Joan hedged. "It was very recent and very sudden."

"How long?" George repeated.

"Well..."

"You're a liar, Joan!" an outraged voice roared from behind them. Raston turned to look at the lovely blonde with light blue eyes and clenched fists.

"Here's a surprise," George exclaimed. "It's Linda Evans, the other female star of the TV series, Dynasty. She seems to disagree with Collins' announcement."

Linda Evans stalked forward as her eyes raged at the brunette who stared back at her as hate seethed through her every pore.

"You bet I'm disagreeing with it. This…woman," Linda spat, "is trying to trap the handsome and magnificent McCormick by making this false claim of an engagement and I'm not going to let her get away with it."

"Why is it so hard for you to believe, Linda?" Joan taunted. "Is it because you want him?"

"Of course I want him! Who wouldn't want someone who looks that good and whose kisses sear your soul? Mark can't love you because Mark loves me!"

"That's what you think but just a few days ago, he let me bring him sugar for his coffee!"

"I'm the one who got him the coffee!"

"Face it Linda," Joan sneered, "you'll never be woman enough for a man like McCormick."

"I'm woman enough to take you down!" Linda yelled as she launched herself at Collins. Within a minute, she had pulled Collins to the ground. They bit, scratched, and clawed at each other as they proclaimed their love for McCormick, the only man whose touch was a registered deadly weapon of desire.

"I don't believe it!" George shouted. "Linda Evans has pulled Joan Collins; two of the biggest stars on television are beating each other senseless on national TV over one man!"

"It's not really too surprising when you're talking about a man like Mark McCormick," Gary said. "Recently mental health officials announced the discovery of a new condition that they're calling McCormickism. It's defined as the strange manners of how being in the presence of Skid McCormick causes beautiful women fall in love with him."

"That's right, Gary," Keith agreed. "And it's an all too easy to understand the phenomenon. In fact…"

"Sorry to interrupt," Gary said, "but it looks like they're getting ready to start the race. And they're off!"

A pistol shot echoed in the air as numerous engines roared and cars raced forward. Almost immediately the racing machine in the very last position began to outpace the other cars as it swerved and dodged its way to the lead position. The precision movement and gutsy driving caused grown men to weep and women to throw roses and intimate pieces of lingerie onto the track.

"We are just five minutes in this race and all ready it is McCormick's race to lose," Gary screamed.

"That's right, Gary," Keith said. "Skid has pulled away from the pack and is gaining speed with every minute. Last year's speed record is as good as broken."

"When McCormick shows up on the race track, everyone else is running for second place."

"Wait one minute!" Gary yelled. "I am getting a special update from George Raston. Let's go over that way and see what's happening."

George Raston openly gaped at the scene in front of him. In front of him, five women rolled and tussled with each other on the ground. A hand from off-screen reached over and tugged at his arm to remind him that he was on the air.

"Um, this is George Raston," he finally said as he reluctantly pulled his gaze away from the tangle of female flesh. "As you can see, the melee of Evans and Collins has been joined by Kate Jackson, Jaclyn Smith, and Farrah Fawcett. Television viewers might remember them as the cast of the popular TV series, Charlie's Angels."

"As I recall," Keith said, "it was one of the top rated TV series until it was mysteriously cancelled."

"No big mystery about what happened, Keith," George responded. "Mark McCormick was a guest star for one of the episodes and all three cast members fell in love with him. After that, they spent so much time fighting each other over his attention that the show fell apart."

"Where did the mud pit come from?"

"These lovely ladies of the small screen decided to handle their disagreements in the time honored traditions of bikini mudwrestling."

"I've been told that movie producers are expecting similar problems when McCormick takes over the role of James Bond for the next block buster release."

"That's right, Gary," Keith piped in. "Even now, actresses from all over the world are begging for a chance to play the lead female role or even a bit part for a chance to get close to this unstoppable dynamo."

"Wait a minute!" Gary shouted. "We have just got another story breaking right now at the Daytona Stadium. It seems that crime can happen even in the middle of the hottest racing event of the year. We've received a report that a recently retired judge has been doing a private investigation of a famous racing promoter who has been duping his investors while running a front for organized crime. The ex-judge has found the evidence he needs and is trying to chase down the promoter who is fleeing the area."

The TV personalities were forced to make a choice; a newly discovered crime involving a well-known promoter tied to organized crime with a live car chase amid the crowd of Daytona or Mark McCormick. They realized it wasn't a hard choice.

"Don't worry, America," Gary pledged. "We're going to keep our cameras focused on the man of the hour. This is his moment as another victory is all but assured."

"That's right, Gary," Keith said. "Besides in that ratty old truck the judge is driving, I doubt he'll be able to catch anyone."

"Holy cow!" Gary screamed. "I don't believe it! Skid McCormick has actually stopped his car in the middle of the track. If I didn't know better, I'd think he's considering leaving the race and joining forces with the judge to catch the bad guys."

"That's ridiculous, Gary!" Keith responded. "McCormick has everything he could ever want; fame, glory, money, and more beautiful women than anyone could dream of. Why would he throw it away to catch bad guys for a crazy old donkey of a judge?"

Gary's mouth dropped open in amazement as he watched McCormick's car spring to life as it took a sharp right turn. "I don't believe it! He's…"

"rrmmiicck!"

The unexpected sound bellowed in Mark's ear caused him to jerk out of his sleep. The sharp movement overturned his lawn chair and he fell to the ground.

"Geez, judge!" McCormick complained as he looked up at Hardcastle who squatted on the ground next to him. "What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?"

"You've been lying there so long I thought you were waiting for Prince Charming to come around and give you a kiss," smirked Milton Hardcastle as he looked down at his disheveled friend.

"First off," said McCormick indigently as he got off the ground, "it would be Princess Charming and second off, it wouldn't be a donkey trying out for a pig calling contest."

"I was just wondering if you were ever going to get around to mowing the lawn or the rest of the chores that have been languishing since you entered the world sleeping championship."

"I told you that I'd get to it. Just like I'm going to get toting the barge, lifting the hay, and all the other stuff you got on your never ending list of yard chores."

"Yeah, but I was hoping they'd be done in my life time.

"You know what they say about all work and no play."

"Yeah, and I know what they say about all play and no pay."

"You're a hard man, judge."

Hardcastle bent down and picked up the open newspaper that had fallen to the ground when Mark tumbled out of the lawn chair.

"E.J. Corlette?" Hardcastle said as he read the lead story. "Don't tell me, you're still claiming you raced against him?"

"Believe it or not, judge. I even came close to beating him a few times."

"Really," Hardcastle said skeptically.

"Really."

"And by the way you were cackling in your sleep, I'll bet you were dreaming about what it would have been like if you had beaten him."

"Maybe," McCormick hedged.

"How could it have been better than this?" Hardcastle asked as he gestured to the still unmowed lawn which seemed to reach to the horizon and the lawn mower that sat waiting for him.

"Oh, judge, let me count the ways," McCormick said as he got up and headed to the mower

THE END


End file.
